39. Sage
SAGE
The lodge still smells faintly of fresh-cut timber and paint. Sunlight spills through the tall windows and across the polished hardwood floors. I’m halfway up a ladder in front of one of the framed photographs when the front doors open.
For one stupid second, my pulse jumps.
Except it isn’t Holden. It’s one of the contractors carrying trim boards inside.
My stomach drops anyway.
I force myself to focus on the photo in front of me, adjusting the reclaimed timber frame one last time before climbing down. Dusting my palms against my jeans, I step back so I can take it all in.
The installation stretches the full width of the wooden wall near the entrance, from the reception desk to the seating area overlooking the mountains.
A lump swells in my throat. God, I wish Holden were here to see it. I let out a shaky breath and push the thought aside. This isn’t about Holden; it’s about this place. It’s about Wild Ember.
The wall is far from perfect. Many of the older photographs are grainy or overexposed, with fine scratches and faded edges from years spent tucked away in boxes.
I love them because they show their age.
In some of the newer photos, horses and riders blur faintly at the edges as if they never fully stopped moving.
But technical perfection feels less important than the story the photographs tell. Floods. Droughts. Brutal winters. Expansion. Loss. Generations rebuilding fences, raising cattle, training horses, pouring themselves back into this land over and over again.
The wall holds it all. Sepia-toned shots of the original ranch house. Riders cutting through snowdrifts nearly as tall as the fence rails. Dust rising behind cattle in summer pastures. Horses half hidden in mist. Half-built cabins against mountain backdrops.
A few months ago, I would’ve obsessed over whether the images complemented each other perfectly.
Whether the tones and composition flowed cleanly from frame to frame.
Now all I notice is how it feels. The way everything is connected—alive.
Wild Ember’s still becoming itself, even after all these years.
Emotion blooms quietly in my chest as I study the wall—this messy, beautiful thing I helped create. None of these photos, not even the few of mine I included, would ever hang in a New York gallery.
And I don’t care in the slightest.
The double doors open behind me.
“Wow.” The honest admiration in Taryn’s voice loosens the tightness beneath my ribs.
I glance over my shoulder. “You really like it?”
She comes to stand beside me, eyes wide. “Sage, it’s incredible. I can’t wait for Dad to see it.”
More voices drift in from outside, and then Chance and Sterling walk through the doors. Both stop short.
Neither says anything as they examine the installation. Weirdly, the silence means more than instant compliments would have.
Chance wanders along the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets. My attention catches on the empty space beside him. Holden should be here, leaning against the reception desk, pretending not to care while secretly studying every photograph.
“You know,” Chance says casually, “people are going to end up standing here staring at this thing instead of checking into their cabins.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Taryn says dryly.
Sterling still hasn’t spoken. His gaze moves slowly across the photographs before finally landing on me. “Doesn’t feel like marketing anymore.”
There’s a roughness in his voice I’m not used to, and emotion rises unexpectedly into my throat. He’s right. This wall doesn’t feel like marketing. It feels like Wild Ember.
And somehow it feels like me now, too.
My breath catches almost painfully. I wish more than anything that Holden were here to see this. To see what he’s part of. Maybe then he wouldn’t keep walking away from it.
I can picture him standing a little apart, hat low, watching his family with a half smile curving his lips.
My heart twists painfully. Can you fall in love with a smile?
Because I think that might have been what I fell in love with first. The first crack in his armor.
Maybe it would have been better if the falling had stopped there.
But it didn’t. He took over my heart without even trying, and now his absence hurts more than finding out the truth about Graham ever did.
I’ve been holding myself together as well as I can, but now the ache has grown so intense that it’s hard to breathe, and the backs of my eyes sting. I need to leave before I crack open completely.
“I’m glad you like it,” I tell them with as bright a smile as I can manage, taking a step toward the door. “I have to meet Mia now. So, I’ll, um… see you later.”
I don’t miss the look Chance and Sterling exchange, or the way sadness clouds Taryn’s features. But they don’t call me out.
Keeping my smile intact for as long as I can, I slip out the door.
Before I can even pick up my burger, Mia steals one of my fries. “I can’t believe you’re leaving in what, a week?”
“Six days.”
She scrunches her face up. “The time’s gone too fast.”
Mabel’s is nice and cool, but outside, the sun glints off store windows and heats the sidewalk.
I’ll miss this. Spending time with Mia, talking about nothing important. Not having to worry about how I look or what kind of impression I’m making. Just being me.
My friend studies me over the rim of her soda. “Are you still thinking about Milan?”
I exhale carefully. “I should want it.”
“Should isn’t the same as do.”
“Yeah.” I roll my lips together. “I always had this vision of what my life was supposed to look like, you know?”
She nods.
“And Milan fits that version perfectly,” I admit. “It would bring attention to my work. It would get me commissions and open doors that I’ve always wanted to walk through.”
“But?”
I look out the window toward the blue-gray mountains rising close around the town, an emptiness seeping into me. “I don’t think I’ve asked myself whether that’s what will actually make me happy in a really long time.”
Her smile is gentle. “You’ve spent a long time chasing what everyone else told you success should look like.” She reaches out, squeezing my hand. “Have you thought about what you want for yourself now?”
I study my hands. “I’ve loved my work here more than anything I’ve done in years.”
She stays quiet, so I keep talking. “Not just the photography. The feeling behind it. Capturing the land and the people, the way it’s all intertwined.”
Her responding smile is faint. “You sound happier talking about photographing cattle than you ever did talking about Manhattan art openings.”
I press my hands to my face and groan.
She chuckles, but her expression softens quickly. “What does that mean? Are you considering staying?”
“I don’t know.” I blow out a breath. “I don’t know how that would work.”
She searches my face. “Sage, if you stay here, it can’t be because of Holden.”
Pain twists sharply through me at the mention of his name. In the days after he left, I’d finally told her everything. I cried in her arms for so long that she knows how much his leaving hurt me. I’m not surprised she’s concerned. “It wouldn’t be.”
I mean it. I love him, and maybe that’s been true longer than I realized. But loving him doesn’t change the fact that he made his choice. He left. I refuse to build a future on the hope that he’ll change his mind.
She worries her lip, her green eyes full of caution. “Do you think he’s coming back?”
“No.” Saying it out loud hollows me out. But beneath the pain is something else. Something that feels like it could heal my heartbreak if I let it. The ranch, the work, the people.
“And if he did?”
“It’d be awkward and horrible, but I’d survive it.”
“Then maybe it’s time to figure out what you want without factoring him, or anybody else, into it.”
I sigh. She’s right. I’ve spent the last few days circling the idea of staying here, unable to decide, and that’s because of Holden. But the truth is, whether he’s here or not, I want this life.
Eyes locked with hers, I say, “I don’t want New York anymore. And I don’t want Milan either.”
For the first time in years, I’m not chasing the version of success I’m supposed to want. I’m choosing a direction that actually fits me.
The realization feels both terrifying and strangely peaceful.
Mia reaches across the table and squeezes my hand again. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Sterling looks mildly suspicious when I corner him outside the equipment shed the next morning. “Last time I saw that expression, we ended up with an art installation.”
I can’t suppress my smile. “You like it, though.”
He scratches at the stubble on his chin. “I do.”
“I’m hoping you’ll like this too.” I pull out the folder tucked beneath my arm and hold it out to him.
His brows pull together as he looks down at it. “What’s this?”
I take a deep breath and will my nerves to settle. “It’s a proposal.”
He takes it, but he stares at me for a second before opening it.
For the next several minutes, while I do my best not to fidget, he flips through the pages I put together last night.
Photography workshops. Guest trail-ride sessions.
Seasonal retreats. Visual storytelling for the ranch and lodge.
Long-term branding ideas for Wild Ember.
It’s all there. Everything I could think of that could make staying here actually work.
He finally looks up. “You did all this?”
“Yeah. Um. On very little sleep, I admit.”
A huff escapes him. “That explains the insanity.”
I hope my grimace comes across as a confident smile.
Face serious, he flips through the proposal again. “You really think this will help with brand differentiation?”
“I know it would.”
Head tilted, he studies me. “You want to stay.”
It’s not a question, and my chest tightens. “Yes.” The word comes quietly, but it’s steady.
Slowly, he closes the folder. “What about going back to New York?”
I glance toward the lodge, where it catches the sunlight. Toward the pastures stretching gold beneath the mountains. Then I look back at him.
“I think I already left New York a while ago.”
For a second, he examines me, his mind clearly working. “It might not pay well to start with. It’ll take time to build it up.”
I try to suppress my smile. “That’s okay with me.”
“All right.” He tucks the folder under his arm. “Guess we’d better figure out where to set up your studio.”
The breath leaves my lungs in a startled laugh. “Seriously?”
“You’re good at this.” He considers the lodge. “You see the things the rest of us stopped noticing.”
Emotion rises so suddenly that it catches me off guard. I blink hard, fighting tears, and I look away. For the first time in years, the future in front of me feels less like something I’m supposed to chase and more like somewhere I actually want to be.
Later that night, I sit on the porch of my little cabin with my laptop on my knees, the residency email open on the screen. Crickets hum as the light above the door illuminates the keyboard beneath my hands.
Three months ago, the portfolio I submitted felt like the best work I’d ever done. Now I know better. Three months ago, a year in Milan dedicated to perfecting my art would’ve been a dream.
Now I have a new dream.
I let my gaze drift back over the offer one last time. International exhibitions. Mentorship. Opportunities most photographers would spend a lifetime chasing.
For so long, I’d imagined this moment. Calling my parents. Hearing the pride in their voices. Finally proving that everything I’d done was worth it.
The thought should make my heart race. Instead, all I feel is… grateful. Grateful for the version of me who wanted this and worked so hard to get here. Grateful that I no longer need it to prove anything.
My throat aches unexpectedly as I survey the acceptance form. Not because I’m unsure, but because I’m finally letting go of something I wanted for a very long time.
I type out a response.
Thank you so much for the opportunity, but…
I hit send before I can overthink it, then close the laptop and look up at the shadowed treetops. The porch creaks softly, and somewhere in the darkness, a long-eared owl lets out a cry that sounds like a cat trapped in a tree.
With a smile, I drop my head back against the chair.
Home.